


Needed

by Livinginfictions



Series: You Are [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Gore, Derek Has Nightmares, Gen, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 02 Finale, Pre-Season/Series 03, Pre-Slash, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles-centric, Understanding Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinginfictions/pseuds/Livinginfictions
Summary: Stiles knows he doesn't bring anything to the pack, but if that's true, why does Derek come to him for help?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to give a big thank you to my lovely Beta [PerseShow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerseShow/pseuds/PerseShow). Never had a Beta before, but I'm telling you, it's absolutely wonderful! <3

_ "I wanna help, you know, but I can’t do the things you do.” _

Scott had said it was okay, but it wasn’t. It so completely wasn’t. Stiles knew he was useless, and it was only reinforced when Gerard was able to completely shut down Scott and Isaac’s defense plan. They were risking their lives, and all he could do was stand there in all his gear, waiting on the field and cursing how excited he still was about being allowed to play. It was all he’d thought about, and then he’d made those goals, and won the game, and he was so damn happy to contribute to  _ something _ .

It didn’t last long. Gerard’s men picked him up almost immediately, sneaking through the crowd when the lights went off and not even bothering to gag him. They didn’t need to. There was no point in chains or gags or anything more than a hand on either of his shoulders, pushing him forward. Because he wasn’t a werewolf, or a kanima, or trained to fight at all. He was just a wimpy kid.

So they led him away, shoved him in a car and drove off, and he didn’t even try to call for help. The best he could manage was a few snarky comments until one of them poked him in the ribs with his gun. Stiles knew the safety was still on, but he stopped anyway. He couldn’t heal from a bullet wound.

Falling down the stairs hurt more than he’d admit. Sure, Scott and Derek had both shoved him against walls often enough, and it’d hurt like hell to be paralyzed by Jackson, but there was something extra painful about something as stupid as falling down a flight of wooden steps. It hurt his pride, as if he’d had any in the first place. He cracked his head on the floor and was seeing double even before Gerard had beat the crap out of him.

The blows to the face had just been for show; a way to hopefully hurt Scott, or at least piss him off. The kicking and the electric shocks had been more of a punishment for even bothering to try and release Erica and Boyd. It would’ve gone on longer, and Gerard would’ve fulfilled his prophecy of Stiles beaten to a squishy pulp, if he hadn’t needed to check on Allison. He didn’t even bother interrogating Stiles and why should he? It wasn’t like he knew anything important, or could offer Gerard anything useful. They were all running around so frantically nobody ever bothered to fully explain what was happening. At least, not to Stiles.

The best he could do was go home instead of seeing Scott, so he wouldn’t upset him like Gerard wanted. That was it. Be a coward. Even when he’d finally decided to help, all he did was drive the Jeep through a wall and basically love tap the Kanima with his front bumper.

It was a running theme with him. Everything he did that was supposedly useful, ended up hurting things more. Especially with that ridiculous mountain ash. The way Deaton had described it and the way it’d felt when he brought the circle into being out of sheer force of will had made Stiles feel like for once he could help. This was a thing he could do. Any time they needed to quarantine a couple of supernatural creatures, he was the man to see.

Of course he’d had to break it, after trapping not only the Kanima in the circle, but Derek’s Betas, and then trapping Derek himself outside. He never should have been put in charge of it in the first place.

He wasn’t even bitter about it. Stiles was used to this by now. Used to Scott standing quite a few rungs higher on just about every ladder possible and how even Lydia and Allison were more helpful than he was. Allison with her bow and Lydia with her brains.

Stiles was just...Stiles. He was a broken Jeep that never got there in time, information too little, too late, advice that no one wanted to take. So no, it wasn’t okay. People died, and his dad had nearly been one of them, and so many things were wrong about the whole situation.

Peter Hale had been right. Scott only got bit because he was out in the woods with Stiles that night. He was only in the woods because Stiles had nagged him to come along on a frankly disgusting search for half a body because he’d been so morbidly curious. This entire thing was Stiles’ fault. Jackson, Scott, Allison’s entire family. He’d gotten everyone hurt.

He couldn’t fix it, so Stiles just faded into the background for the last few months of school, and when it ended he isolated himself as much as possible. Sure, he still tried to be there for Scott, and he never turned down a game night or a chance to let Scott vent, but he tried not to seek his friend out anymore.

Scott noticed, of course. He was a good friend, the best, and Stiles had never been particularly good at being sneaky. Pickpocketing was one thing, but there was no way Stiles could pull off avoiding Scott. In the end he just asked for space, and Scott gave it to him. It was better than way, Stiles was sure.

While Scott read every book he could find that might have some philosophical meaning, Stiles did research. He nearly passed out at the look on Peter’s face when he asked to borrow the laptop with the Hale bestiary, but eventually Peter had just laughed and handed it over. So Stiles copied everything he could find onto his own hard drive, then added some more from the Argent bestiary, then began making one of his own. He spent most days working on it, compiling everything he knew about the supernatural into one space. A surprising amount of it wasn’t in English, and knowing there was information he couldn’t understand  _ burned  _ Stiles.

So he brushed up on archaic Latin, then normal Latin, then Greek, because it seemed like a good idea for the future. He made a few discreet visits to Deaton’s office when Scott wasn’t working and borrowed a couple books on significant symbols and herbs that might be useful. Deaton laughed too, but his sounded much less manic, so Stiles was more okay with it.

A couple weeks into summer break, Derek appeared at his window, summoning him to the Hale house.

“A phone call would’ve gotten me there a lot quicker.” Stiles griped, following Derek a good block away from his house to the car.

Derek just gave him a heavy dosage of eyebrows and sped off before Stiles could put on a seatbelt. It was a nice car. Much newer than the Jeep, and therefore full of fun safety features that would probably be enough to keep Derek alive in an accident, but Stiles was far more breakable. After a few minutes of silence the werewolf rumbled, “I don’t need anyone knowing you’re coming. Not even Scott.”

Stiles couldn’t help the tiny trickle of fear that ran down his back. “You aren’t gonna kill me, right? I haven’t even done anything recently.”

“Shut up.” 

That was most definitely not a real answer, and it did nothing to make Stiles more comfortable. He knew that by now his heart had to be pretty noticeable to werewolf senses, but there wasn’t much he could have done to prevent the anxiety building in his chest, so he tried to talk himself down. “I’m gonna assume you aren’t gonna kill me. I mean, I know I’m annoying, but I can’t be annoying enough that you’d wait a month and a half without hearing from me to decide to rip my throat out. With your teeth, wasn’t it?”

“I still might if you don’t shut it.” But compared to Derek’s usual threats, it was half-hearted at best, which had to mean something important was happening.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Stiles began to dial Scott’s number. “Seriously dude, if something is up, you need Scott. Not me.”

Faster than he could see, Derek snatched his phone out of his hand and threw it, thankfully into the backseat instead of out a window. “No. Scott’s not part of my pack. I need someone who...someone neutral, right now. Now would you  _ please _ shut up.”

It might have been a command, but the fact that Derek said ‘please’ for once meant something, so Stiles shut up. They got the rest of the way to his house in silence.

After all that time in the train depot, Derek had finally shifted his base back to the house, now that hunters weren’t using it anymore and he’d been able to claim it as personal property in the eyes of the law again. Stiles could tell when they pulled up that Derek was putting in more effort this time. There was fresh lumber sitting out, and the least destroyed part of the house had obvious signs of repair. The windows weren’t boarded up anymore, and the front door had been rehung and freshly painted. With summer in full swing the preserve was bursting with life and even the ivy crawling up the front of the house looking nice. It almost looked liveable, barely.

Stiles wasn’t particularly surprised when Derek left him behind, jumping out of the car and stalking into the house, but he still ran to catch up. There was something different about seeing Derek in his own house, not currently under attack. The moment they passed the threshold he looked slightly smaller, more relaxed, even though his shoulders were twitching with every step. It was a good look on him, or at least on the back on his head, which was all Stiles could see.

They’d gotten halfway up the stairs in the front room before Stiles heard the whining. Inside what was clearly supposed to be a bedroom on the right side of the second floor, on makeshift pallets of towels and blankets soaked in blood, lay Boyd and Erica.

Scott had mentioned they ran off to join a different pack, or at least escape their old one, the night of the game. Then Stiles’d seen them hanging in the Argent basement and after that everything got so hectic he didn’t even think. Part of him had just assumed Chris had let them go and they’d been sulking with Derek for the last few days of school. But here they were, ripped to shreds.

Just stepping into the room turned Derek’s eyes red, and he nearly tripped over himself getting to a space between both of their heads. In seconds he’d tucked his hands under each of their necks, and the veins running up his arms turned an inky black. The whimpers quieted almost instantly, the slight relief from pain knocking the both of them out, and now the earlier twitches made sense. Derek had been able to hear them from all the way out in the yard, no wonder he’d been distracted.

He looked up at Stiles, and Stiles never knew Alpha eyes could show emotion other than anger, but Derek’s eyes were actually almost glistening. “I can’t help them and take their pain at the same time. Help me?” The way he bit out the last two words, they didn’t sound anything like his usual commands. He glanced over at a pile of fresh towels and bandages and antiseptic, all likely stolen from the hospital by their industrial packaging.

Not even hesitating, Stiles nodded and got to work. As he used a pair of surgical scissors to cut through Erica’s shirt he couldn’t help trying again. “Why didn’t you go to Scott? He works at a vet, he’d be a lot better—”

“He’s not pack. He doesn’t want to be pack.” Something was making Derek lose control, and he growled through the words, teeth getting in his way. For about the millionth time, Stiles wished there was more information on werewolves in the bestiaries. Hunters didn’t care for the fine details, and werewolves weren’t likely to keep anything on themselves, so the entries were frustratingly lacking.

If he hadn’t been tugging strips of cloth away from the gaping wounds in Erica’s stomach, Stiles would have put his hands up. “Okay, okay. He’d never turn you down for something like this, but okay!” He was basically pouring antiseptic all over the bloody mess that should have been her digestive tract when the smell hit him. Dried blood wasn’t even close to the worst compared to the stench coming from the two sets of intestines and stomach contents currently laid bare to the world. How he hadn’t noticed it before, Stiles didn’t know, but suddenly he was gagging. “OH my—Oh God.”

Now was not the time to heave and Stiles’ hands were covered in blood already, but he pressed his forearm to his nose and mouth as Derek snarled. “You see? If I’d brought Scott he wouldn’t make it past the front door. Your human senses make this easier for you, now hurry up!”

Derek was no exception to the rule and Stiles pointed that out, even as he went back to work, wrapping a long towel around the wound to keep all of Erica’s innards inside until they healed and strapping it down with a couple bands of surgical elastic tied together. The stomach was definitely the worst of Erica’s injuries, so Stiles switched over to Boyd’s dark figure to deal with his similar intestinal problem. He didn’t get an answer until another body wrap had been made for Boyd and he was using actual bandages and swabs to clean and bind the slashes on their arms and legs and face. God, was there anywhere they weren’t hurt?

“I can handle it. I might be a crappy Alpha, but they’re still my pack, at least until they manage to find another one.” He sounded resigned and if Stiles didn’t know better, hurt.

But there had to be someone else who could have helped, surely. “What about Peter?”

“He left town as soon as school was out, right after you gave the laptop back, something about not wanting to babysit Isaac over the summer.”

“And Isaac, where’s he?”

“He’s been staying over at the houses of different lacrosse members until I finish fixing his room. He’d be even worse at this.”

“Well why didn’t you go to Deaton?”

Finally Derek properly lost his temper and he roared loud enough to shake the broken glass in the window pane. “Because I thought I’d killed them just by moving them to the house! If it’s that hard just leave!”

Stiles froze, fingers halfway through putting a wad of gauze over a cut on Boyd’s throat. Clearly he’d been the last option. Derek wouldn’t have brought him here if there were any other choice. He must be completely desperate and here Stiles was acting like he was stuck doing chores. “No, I—sorry. I wanna help.”

It took forever, and he nearly ran out of tape and bandages, but eventually Stiles got everything severe covered. His hands were shaking from the stress, and the antiseptic was now so ingrained in his nose Stiles was sure he’d never smell bacon again. What bothered him most out of the whole situation was that while he’d been working, not even the tiniest scratches had healed on the Betas.

Derek showed no signs of moving, but Stiles had to get up and stretch his legs after kneeling for so long. He’d tried to keep quiet, but he was  _ worried. _ “Derek, what happened to them?”

He received in response the look he knew so well. The  _ none of your business _ look that meant yet again Derek was hiding something, but Stiles wasn’t having it right now. “Look dude, you don’t have to tell me everything, but if you want my help I need to know how they got hurt. I didn’t see any wolfsbane bullets and those don’t look like knife marks, but they aren’t healing like at all, so what happened?”

Today was a day for new experiences, because Stiles got to see another emotion he’d yet to find on Derek. Defeat. “I don’t know much. I found them on accident, a few miles outside the preserve. From what I can tell, it was Alphas.”

The use of a plural left Stiles spluttering and he tripped on a stray board, crashing to the floor. “Alphas? Like, not one Alpha, but...more than one?”

Derek barely bothered to raise an eyebrow, but it was enough to redirect Stiles’ thought process. “Right, sorry. Um, so the Alpha wounds aren’t gonna heal fast at all.” He wracked his brain, pulling on weeks of study for some kind of answer. Herbs, spells, poultices and potions, as many as he’d been able to remember, something had to help. “Astragalus root!”

“Astro-what?”

Clambering to his feet, Stiles paced to keep the information flowing. “Astragalus root. It boosts the healing process, or at least it will once they have stomachs. I need to go get some.” He was in the doorstep before a growl behind him made him stop.

“Stiles, you can’t leave.”

“Right, no car. I’ll just take yours then, give me the keys.” Stiles turned around and held out his hand. Any other time he would have been giddy with the thought of driving the camaro for once, but seeing the Betas lying mangled on the ground was filling his heart with lead.

Snarling a little and cracking his neck, Derek spit out, “No, I mean, please  _ don’t _ leave. I can’t...I don’t know how to do this.” He gestured at the leftover first aid supplies on the floor. “If they need something—if something happens—you’re better for the job. Just tell me what you need and I’ll go back to your house and get it.”

This was different, and not in a good way. Who knew that Derek being polite would make Stiles feel so much like the world was coming to an end? “It’s not at my house. That stuff might bloom around now, but it’s native to Korea or Mongolia. Deaton has some though.” Stuck in his head, Stiles padded back over to sit properly between the hurt Betas. They still hadn’t woken up yet, which wasn’t a good sign.

Decided, Stiles nodded. “Alright, go to Deaton first. You don’t have to tell him anything, just say I need Astragalus Root slices, say it’s for research or something—he’ll understand. If you don’t already have some, I need black or green tea. Wait, does your kitchen even work well enough to make tea?” Derek just nodded. “Good, then get soup too, some kind of broth that isn’t too heavy. Oh, and if you can, grab my laptop from my house, and the notebook on my desk, and the three books sitting next to it.”

“What’re those for?” asked Derek, already rising from his position cradling his Beta’s heads. The way he gently set them down onto the towels that served as pillows betrayed a lot more about Derek than Stiles ever thought he’d know.

He stifled a teasing remark and just shrugged, “I’m going to be here for a while, probably overnight since my dad’s working a night shift at the station. I get bored pretty quickly and you don’t want to see that.” Derek’s eyes widened at the implication of being stuck with Stiles for more than a couple hours, and Stiles just grinned up at him. Served him right, dragging him into this.

On his way out the door, Derek threw over his shoulder, “There’s already tea and broth in the kitchen, left cupboard above the stove. Electricity and water are on.”

Then he was gone, and Stiles was alone with two unconscious Betas and more than a little anxiety.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter. I should have waited longer before posting it, but eh, I'm impatient.

Boyd woke up for a few moments while Derek was gone. He couldn’t even lift his head, but the sound of his voice brought Stiles up to his face. “Derek? Where’s Derek? Where’s Erica?”

It was instinct to lift Boyd’s head onto his lap and Stiles went with it, rubbing an uninjured section of his shoulder and trying to soothe him. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Erica’s right beside you and Derek is out getting medicine. He’ll be back soon and then both of you are gonna be fine.”

Confusion flooded Boyd’s face and he squinted up at Stiles’ upside-down face. “Stiles? Why are you here?”

“Cus’ your sourwolf Alpha couldn’t find anyone better to help out. Now just stay still. Do you want water?” Boyd didn’t get a chance to answer because he passed out again, leaving Stiles to his thoughts.

And what strange thoughts they were. He couldn’t decide if he was anxious about screwing something up while Derek was away, or happy to be of some use for once. Probably a bit of both, but they didn’t mix well and suddenly Stiles was desperate not to ruin everything. He let Boyd’s head fall back to its pillow and jumped up to tidy all the supplies sitting in the room, then he cleared any debris off the floor and, for lack of a better method, chucked it into the backyard through the broken window.

Remembering the tea downstairs, Stiles rushed down the steps and hunted down a kettle, choosing green tea over black so it wasn’t too bitter. He put water on to boil, but kept running back upstairs every thirty seconds to check on the Betas, just in case they woke up again. As he always did in stressful situations, he wished he had super abilities like the werewolves. Then he could just hear them if they started talking or something.

The water was bubbling by the time Derek returned and Stiles measured out the right number of fresh root slices to drop in. Technically the root would make a tea of its own, but it would be better to mix it with something. Derek didn’t waste time waiting in the kitchen and just dropped the medicine off with Stiles before going back up, presumably to drain more pain from the Betas.

Once the tea had steeped in the mugs long enough, Stiles carried them up the steps as carefully as he could. Sure enough, Derek was once again placed in the middle, this time with a comforting hand on the shoulders of his pack members. Next to the door sat Stiles’ backpack, a lot fuller than he thought it would be. He resisted the urge to check on it immediately and just settled across from Derek, setting the mugs down on the floor to cool.

There wasn’t much to say anymore, but eventually Stiles’ energetic mind prodded him to ask, “So, if Scott isn’t part of the pack and that’s why you didn’t want him here...why’d you ask me to come?” He and Scott were two peas in a pod, a joint situation, package deal. It didn’t make much sense too choose one and not the other, much less Stiles over Scott.

Derek didn’t answer for a good few minutes, and Stiles had already turned his attention to blowing on the tea when he got a response. “You’re neutral, like I said before. Much more than Scott, who actively avoids me. Besides, you’re human, and that means you won’t be as upset as anyone else I could bring in.” At Stiles’ confused blink, Derek huffed out a sigh and looked down at Erica’s too-pale face as he continued. “It’s not just uncomfortable to see other wolves in pain like this. It’s disturbing. Hard to look at and even harder to interact with. You don’t have that problem.”

Great. Stiles was the chosen one because he was so insensitive. He certainly didn’t feel insensitive at the moment; there was this insistent need to touch and comfort the wounded Betas that he’d only ever felt after seeing his dad too drunk to hold back tearful memories of Stiles’ mom. Even as he lifted a mug to his lips and blew gently on it, his free hand was lightly petting an untouched part of Boyd’s jeans, hoping to calm him even in sleep.

Using the now cooled tea as a distraction, Stiles instructed Derek to lift first Erica’s, then Boyd’s head so he could tip a few drops in their mouths. God bless reflexive swallowing, Stiles managed to get them to drink nearly half of one of the mugs cumulatively before he thought much more might drown them.They still didn’t look anywhere in the perimeter of okay, but Erica was a little less pale and Boyd had stopped feeling quite so feverish from the rush of his body to heal him past the point of immediate danger.

“How did you know about this? That it would help, I mean?” Derek mumbled, wiping away a dribble from the edge of Erica’s mouth.

Stiles didn’t know why, but he felt almost embarrassed to be caught out. “I, uh, I’ve been doing some research and it happened to come up.”

How was he supposed to describe the ache in his heart and the near obsession with  _ never _ being caught off guard again? Werewolves had been difficult enough, but the kanima had thrown Stiles for a loop and people had died. A lot of people. Studying the supernatural was Stiles’ only defense against it.

Derek snorted and was that a smile? “Deaton gave me four more books for your  _ research _ when I went to see him, and when I asked about the root he didn’t even flinch. You must be doing some serious stuff.” After a moment he added. “Thank you.”

It was too much and Stiles had to actually bite his lip to keep in the smart remark that came to mind. Any kind of peace with Derek was a precious thing and however much he wanted to poke at the gratitude he was being shown, it wasn’t worth it to risk losing the openness in Derek’s face. Instead he bobbed his head a little, “It’s not a problem. Seriously, I just want to help.”

After that, things went from calm to boring pretty quickly. Stiles didn’t feel right leaving the room with Derek still helping Erica and Boyd, so he scooted over to the door and leaned against the peeling wall to dig through his backpack.

The reason Derek had taken so long was clear the moment Stiles opened up the zip. Inside were the four books from Deaton, the three from his desk, and his laptop and notepad. But tucked around those was also a pair of sweats and a clean t-shirt. Even his toothbrush had been packed. “Dude, while I totally appreciate it, you didn’t need to get this stuff.”

Another shrug, because apparently even Derek fighting his shift had simple body language. “You’re doing me a favor, Stiles, I didn’t want you to be more uncomfortable than you had to be. I’m not a total dick, you know.”

“Duly noted.” As if he hadn’t known before. Derek had a lot of communication issues, and he was way too aggressive, and his impulse control left a lot to be desired, but those were just surface level things. Stiles understood his obsession with “survival” like few others would, and while he could certainly blame him for the catastrophically bad idea that was turning a bunch of teenagers, he kind of understood that too. He’d heard the stories about Derek’s family for years. It was big, with cousins and siblings and aunts and uncles all piled into this one house. Derek had to be dying of loneliness at this point.

Stiles spent the next couple hours working on translating Greek myths to English. It didn’t have a huge amount of usefulness, but he needed the practice. Third declension nouns were kicking his ass and staring at the chart only helped so much. Eurystheus was denying Heracles the right to claim killing the Lernaian Hydra as one of his labors when Derek stood up.

He looked exhausted. Derek always had a serious energy around him, even when he was fighting aconite poisoning, but now his eyes had shifted back to normal and he was sweating slightly. His voice was relieved though, when he said, “They’re closer to sleeping than unconscious now. Come on, you can sleep in Isaac’s room tonight. It’s not finished yet, but the weather is pretty good so you should be fine.”

The sun had gone down without Stiles noticing, and the light he’d been working from turned out to just be a lamp in the corner of the room. How hadn’t he seen that before? When did it get turned on? He turned to look at Derek when the Alpha cleared his throat, but he shook his head. “No thanks. I should stay here in case they wake up. You know, the first twenty-four hours are the most critical time for something like this. I can’t hear them like you can, so I’ll just sleep here.”

Erica and Boyd weren’t exactly close friends of Stiles: he’d known them for a few years before they became werewolves but never talked enough to really bond. But he couldn’t leave them. It made him sick with regret every time he thought about how just a little more kindness on his part might’ve been enough to keep either or both of them from wanting to be turned in the first place. Erica had had a crush on him and he hadn’t even noticed, and Boyd just wanted people to spend time with. Stiles could have done that, at least been nicer to them both, but he hadn’t and now they were werewolves in constant danger with an Alpha who looked overwhelmed every time he was in the room with the two of them at once.

The man in question was staring at Stiles like he wanted to ask him something and the best thing Stiles could think to do was just wait. It seemed to work better than most other things at getting Derek to talk. He just needed a little more time than other people to figure out what he wanted to say or maybe just get the courage to say it. The complete opposite of Stiles, who let pretty much every thought that crossed his mind spill out until he looked like a total idiot. If he could manage to stay quiet, maybe Derek would manage to speak up.

He was still standing in the doorway, or rather, leaning on it. The exhaustion of leeching pain from his Betas for hours at a time seemed to win out when Derek use a controlled fall to drop against the other side of the doorway. Derek lowered his head back against the wall and the thud it made sounded painful. “Deaton told me I couldn’t be a good Alpha because I don’t trust anyone. That’s why Scott wouldn’t join my pack, why Erica and Boyd want to leave. Even Isaac isn’t happy here; he only stays to spend time with Scott.” Stiles wasn’t sure how to answer, but Derek didn’t seem to be looking for one because he changed subjects. “You know I technically adopted him? It was that or he went into the foster system until he turned eighteen. I’m only five years older than him, but the state had no problem making me his legal guardian. I don’t even have a house for him to live in yet and they just signed him over like it didn’t matter.”

Again, there was nothing Stiles could think to say. As much as he hated knowing it, Isaac was probably used to this by now. He’d been abused by his dad for years and no one had done anything. Jackson even  _ knew _ about it, but he’d been so lost in his own identity crisis that he didn’t bother to tell anyone who could help. It wasn’t anything new for the government to not give a crap about him.

“He deserves better. I don’t even know what to do with him when he’s here. I tried to let him stay in my room, since it’s one of the only places in the house that isn’t missing a wall or roofing or something, but he said it smelled too much like me. So I sent him to stay with his friends. He might not even come back, if he finds something better. I don’t blame him.” As he vented, Derek spoke to the ceiling, practically forgetting Stiles was even in the room. That was okay, whatever helps, you know? But then he tilted his head and caught Stiles eyes, who hadn’t even realized he’d just been watching the wolf. “Look what I did to them, Stiles.”

Now he couldn’t keep quiet. “Derek, this isn’t your fault. Seriously, it’s not. Yeah turning Erica and Boyd and Isaac into werewolves was probably a stupid idea, but I get why you did it, and you’re trying to make up for it. Isaac knows that. He talks about you all the time, you know. ‘Derek said I should work on my shifts, Derek taught me how to retile a floor.’ The dude idolizes you, he’s just waiting for you give him permission to do it in front of you. And Erica and Boyd chose to leave on their own, whatever happened to them you need to stop blaming yourself for because they’re going to be okay and you have a chance to make things better.

“You just need to give them something to stay for. Not that your shining personality shouldn’t be enough, but Deaton’s right. You need to trust them. Start with something small and just keep going and I promise it’ll work out. Even Scott would be more willing to hang out with you or help you out if you would just tell him what was actually happening.” Stiles was angry on Derek’s behalf. He’d had all these years to work on healing after the fire, but now that he’d come back to Beacon Hills it was like everything that happened was specially designed to either piss him off or break his heart. It wasn’t fair. “I know you’re trying to protect them, but this is the world they’re living in now and knowledge is power. The more they understand about what’s happening to them and what they’re dealing with, the safer they’ll be.”

Normally Derek would have shut him up, either with a snarl or with force, when Stiles’ rant got too lengthy, but he just looked at him throughout the impromptu speech. “Why don’t you count yourself as one of them?” he asked, once Stiles’ words sank into the air between them. “This happened to you too, and you’ve been in just as much danger as any of us.”

“Oh please, I’m more likely to get a papercut from one of these books than anything else.” Stiles tried hard to shove away the memories of Gerard’s fist and boots coming at him. “I’m the reason all of this is happening in the first place. I have no room to complain.”

Derek huffed, the closest to a laugh Stiles had heard from him since he’d gone in to flirt rather spectacularly with the officer at the station as a distraction. This sounded much more genuine and Stiles wondered if he could get him to do it again sometime. Maybe the sourwolf wasn’t always sour. “Hypocrite.” The insult had no heat, instead it was almost fond. Stiles didn’t really understand what he meant, but he’d take what he could get.

Stiles zoned out for a while, just thinking about how weird this whole situation was. He, rather than Scott, was having bonding time with the local Alpha over the mangled bodies of runaway Betas. It was almost nice, actually talking with Derek and not being thrown against a wall or fighting for someone’s life.

At some point he looked up to find the wolf’s chin drooped down to his chest. The furrow of his brows had relaxed in sleep, and Stiles didn’t really know how to describe the warmth in his chest when he realized Derek felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in Stiles’ presence. Sure, he could rip Stiles apart without a thought if something happened, but the trust implied in Derek’s relaxed state was way more than Stiles felt he deserved.

At least someone was going to get some rest. Stiles definitely wasn’t, too antsy about missing Erica’s first waking. Someone had to tell her what was going on, calm her down in case she woke up as scared as Boyd had. So Stiles just went back to translating, waiting to be needed. It felt good to be needed, even if the circumstances sucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be sure to let me know what you think in the comments! I love seeing your guys' perspective on things.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the next chapter for you guys, I hope you like it!

Stiles nodded off eventually anyway, but he still woke up before Derek did, as the sun rose. Working by himself in an effort to let the clearly frightened Alpha get some decent rest, Stiles dripped the now cold tea down the Beta’s throats until they seemed sufficiently hydrated. He would need to make some broth for when they were actually awake. Tea was good for liquids, but they needed actual nutrients too.

He was still holding Erica’s head up when she spluttered awake. “Derek?” The sound of his name jerked Derek into consciousness, but Stiles just petted Erica’s hair as the wolf kneewalked over to her side.

“Hey, nice to see you in the land of the living. Derek is right there, and before you ask, Boyd is fine. You guys are safe.” It was his best calm voice, and it seemed to have a positive effect on the Beta, who stopped trying to get up. Derek nodded his agreement, but his hands were trembling slightly when he reached for Erica’s arm.

More for Derek’s benefit than for anyone else’s, Stiles kept up a running commentary as he switched spots with Derek to give Boyd similar treatment when he began to stir. “You guys are seriously hardcore, you know that? I give it a week and you’ll be running around causing trouble like usual. If you’re feeling up to it, we can get you guys cleaned up better, maybe put you on beds that don’t stink to high heaven? If your Alpha will make a bandage run, I can rewrap all your gross cuts and then you’ll get food.”

Erica and Boyd weren’t responding much, just wincing in pain and nodding whenever Stiles paused, but he knew he had Derek’s full attention when the Alpha nearly jumped to his feet in his rush to get out the door. “Hey,” Stiles called, “Pick up something for stitches while you’re out, just to speed things up.” Hopefully now there would be enough flesh to stitch.

He kept talking while Derek was gone, now to calm himself down while he slowly began removing gauze and giant band-aids from different wounds to see what had healed. Every time he found one that didn’t need to be rewrapped he thanked whoever was out there it hadn’t been wolfsbane too. He couldn’t hope to move them by himself, but he got all the minor injuries redone before running out of tape completely. After that all he could do was go make more tea and wait.

Derek returned with a bag of supplies and Stiles’ phone. He didn’t bother trying to toss it, everyone knew how clumsy Stiles was, and planted it in his hand on his way over to Boyd. “You’ve got a couple messages.” When he’d sat down he looked at Stiles again, “And...I called Isaac and told him to come back. And I texted Scott to come over too.”

That was good. That was really good, and Stiles started smiling as he tapped in his password. “Hear that kids? The rest of the family is coming home. You’re gonna be waited on hand and foot around the—shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?” 

Stiles didn’t respond for a moment, already searching the room for a plausible excuse. Digging into his bag to grab the fresh clothes he explained, “My dad got home early and realized I am decidedly  _ not _ at home. He might actually kill me.” Diving into a usable bathroom Stiles changed his clothes and splashed some water on his hair to smooth it down. It’d grown surprisingly quickly since school let out and there was just enough length to give him a case of bedhead. At least he didn’t have to brush it yet.

He snagged his bag from the room without looking at Derek and just yelled over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll just run home and tell him I went to the library or something.” He was relatively sure the library was open this early.

Derek appeared at the front door, blocking his path. How did he get around him on the steps? “Wait, Stiles, what am I supposed to do when Scott and Isaac get here?” His own hair wasn’t even ruffled, but he looked really young and lost all of a sudden, and Stiles paused.

“You’ll be fine, Derek. Just tell them what happened, try not to get angry at them if they’re upset. Offer them some tea or something—but don’t waste the root in theirs, the Betas need it. I’ll be back in a couple hours, call me if you need me.” The already anxious and grumpy twitch of Derek’s eyebrows worried Stiles. The last thing they needed was him getting in a fight with his healthy Betas, and yeah, Stiles did think of Scott as Derek’s Beta, whether he wanted to be or not.

Risking the removal of his arm, Stiles put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m serious. Just stay calm and if you need  _ anything _ , call me.” Derek jerked back in surprise, and Stiles took the opportunity to slip under his arm and out of the house. He couldn’t exactly race away, but he seriously doubted Derek would take the time to chase him down when the Betas were in need.

There was a bus route just off the edge of the preserve and Stiles managed to catch one of them at the last second, so at least he didn’t have to actually run all the way home. As he waited for his stop his phone started buzzing in his pocket and he didn’t even look at the caller ID when he picked up. “What is it?”

Derek’s response actually made Stiles laugh, though he felt bad about it afterwards. “Haven’t you ever babysat a sick kid? Make them some of that in a pot or something, and don’t put in more than 3 slices of the root. If either of them—” Stiles coughed out Erica’s name in accusation, “start griping about real food give them crackers. You don’t have crackers? You have tea and broth and no crackers? Fine, I’ll pick some up on my way back.”

Before Derek could hang up Stiles warned him about needing to let Scott do the stitches, and making someone help him lift the Betas so they didn’t get hurt when being moved. Derek didn’t argue once, just huffed when Stiles accidentally said, “I’ll be home soon.” He’d  _ meant  _ back. It was sleep deprivation, definitely.

The Sheriff wasn’t happy, but he also didn’t see a point in yelling at Stiles for spending time outside the house when there wasn’t school for him to skip. He only bothered with a firm reminder about the existence of texting before letting Stiles disappear up to his room.

While he was there, he might as well properly prepare to spend some serious time at the Hale house. He repacked his backpack with more essential titles and another set of clothing, and even threw in his phone charger for good measure. He tried stuffing some towels into it as well, but there was no room, so he ended up carrying those, along with a blanket and some pillows, in his arms down the stairs, where he ran into his dad.

He was familiar with the look. One raised eyebrow and a little bit of a squint in the other. Right, an explanation. “Um, I’m going to hang out with Scott.” Not good enough, going by the lifting of the eyebrow even further. It looked like it hurt. “We’re thinking of going swimming.” His dad just pointed down at the blanket and pillows. “Or having a sleepover?”

Noah Stilinski just sighed and turned to make space for Stiles to get past. He was the best dad.

Part of Stiles honestly expected to return to find the Hale house ripped apart, growling and roaring werewolves rolling around on the lawn. Instead it was quiet as Stiles pulled up in the Jeep, and the first thing he heard on pushing through the door with his arms full was Erica’s shout. “STILES!”

He was up the stairs and in the room as fast as his human legs could carry him. “What is it? What’d I do? Are you okay?” 

The room was filled to the brim with wolves. Rarely did Stiles see them all together, and he actually didn’t mind the picture. Isaac was standing next to Scott in a corner, holding a mug of tea with both hands and blowing on it. Derek himself was waiting next to the door, his own tea on the floor by his feet. The rotten-smelling towels had been removed from under and around Erica and Boyd and they now sported matching massive wraps of real bandages around their waists as they lay on clean bedding. Everyone in the room was staring at him.

Derek was the first to clear his throat. “She was asking for you.” He turned his gaze to the floor and his shoulders were slumped downward, looking, for lack of a better phrase, like a kicked puppy.

Things were a lot more tense than he’d realized, but it was nothing a little Stilinski charm couldn’t fix. “Of course she was, now help me get these bags off my wrists. They hurt like a bitch.” Derek obligingly freed Stiles from his four heavy shopping bags, and didn’t even growl at him when Stiles reflexively patted the sulking Alpha on the arm. His action earned a surprised inhale from Scott, but he ignored it.

Keeping only a small, firm pillow in his hand, Stiles knelt next to Erica and helped her tuck it under her head. His voice dropped to the softest, smoothest tone he could manage as he smiled. “Hey, how’re you feeling?”

“Don’t ever leave me alone with all these idiots at once.” She was fully conscious and seething by the looks of it.

Dutifully, Stiles shook his head. “Never again, now tell me what’s wrong.” He knew something was. Erica was tense and didn’t seem to want to make eye contact, even her lashing out made sense. It reminded him of some of his visits to the vet to see Deaton or Scott. How did these wolves manage to survive in the human world with such doglike behaviors?

Instead of answering, Erica just looked around at the rest of the pack and grimaced. Immediately Stiles turned around and threw his hands up, waving wildly. “Alright, Scott, Isaac, out. Go hang out downstairs or something.”

Scott began to splutter, “What? What about Derek?”

“He has Alpha privileges. Shoo.” Just to prove his point, Stiles summoned Derek over with a jerk of his chin and returned his view to Erica until the sounds of two dejected wolves left the room.

Erica still looked nervous, but this time when she glanced at Derek, Stiles shook his head. “Nope. He’s staying. Erica, it’s his job to know what’s wrong so he can help you.”

To his credit, Derek was working very hard to make himself look a little less like his usual intimidating self. He was sitting with his knees curled up to his chest and wasn’t even looking at Erica, just at his hands.

Finally Erica blew out a breath. “It’s just...I just feel really gross and I don’t want them looking at me like this.” She had a point, though Stiles hurt knowing how much it upset her. Erica, like Boyd, was covered in blood. The cleanest parts on her were under her bandages, and the rest had smears of red and brown. Even her face had dirt smudges, and her makeup was only serving to give her the biggest smokey eye Stiles’d ever seen.

Everybody had their armor, and for Erica it was her beauty. Once she’d been bitten, Erica had yet to be seen without perfect clothes, hair, and makeup. Being surrounded by people, unable to move and looking pretty bad had to be bringing back some unpleasant memories of her seizures. At her empty side, Boyd twitched his hand enough to grasp one of her fingers. As if on cue, she began sniffling and a couple tears rolled down the side of her face, and she couldn’t even reach up to remove them.

Stiles did it for her and shushed her quietly. “Hey, don’t cry, I can fix that, okay? No showers yet, of course, but—here, Derek, stay with her.” He left the Alpha tentatively holding Erica’s hand and went over to one of his bags to grab a new washcloth. The water in the bathroom wouldn’t quite get hot, but the house was pretty old, so Stiles couldn’t blame it.

Bringing back the damp cloth, Stiles nearly started wiping away some of the grime, but he stopped when he caught the look on Derek’s face. His eyes were glued to Erica and he almost looked as if he was the one that got attacked. Stiles tapped him on the shoulder, and when Derek turned to him, he held out the cloth. “Go ahead.”

It was weird at first, for everyone involved, but soon both Erica and Derek relaxed enough that Stiles felt confident leaving the cleanup to the Alpha. While Derek bonded with his Beta, Stiles unpacked some stuff from his bags, then took the rest of them downstairs.

Scott and Isaac were sitting on the cushionless, musty couch in the living room and they jumped Stiles as soon as he hit the ground floor. If they were going to be clingy, he might as well put them to work, so Stiles simply dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter and pointed.

It felt like he was taking advantage of the situation. Derek had been scared out of his mind, and none of the Betas seemed to be doing much better, and just because Stiles was being a bit calm, everyone was just doing as he said. Isaac went for the groceries and started putting them away in the correct cupboards, revealing an actual stock of food that Derek already had, and Scott began rinsing out the dishes Derek must’ve brought down. Everyone was being so docile. Wasn’t that normally Stiles’ job?

If Erica and Boyd being hurt was going to make everyone act weird, the only thing to do was help them get better. “Did Derek feed them, or for that matter you guys?” Stiles had grabbed a couple poptarts to munch on during his ride, but he could still go for some food.

When the boys shook their heads, Stiles began pulling out ingredients. He started the broth first, adding in the slices early so they would cook into it properly, then made the easiest thing he could find. Hamburger Helper. There was even meat in the fridge, and Stiles threw a double dose in a pan to brown. It would make a weird lunch, but they were a bunch of teenagers, who was going to care?

Smell traveled fast, and soon Derek was padding down the steps. “Boyd says that better be for him.”

“No, he and Erica are on a liquid diet until tomorrow at the earliest. Boyd can fight me about it if he needs to. Where do you keep the damn plates?” There! That had to be a smile, right? Derek walked over to the space next to Stiles and— “You keep them in drawers? What the hell man?”

Derek just shrugged. “The cupboards aren’t clean yet.”

And there it was, the perfect opportunity. Sure, Stiles was most definitely prying, but if he could just get Derek to admit some kind of emotion. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the floor in that bathroom is only half done too. You planning to finish that sometime soon? My bare feet are gonna get ruined.”

Derek’s ears turned pink, which was actually kind of cute and had no right to be. He cleared his throat neatly and looked out into the hall as he said, “I was waiting for Isaac to move back in so he could help me.” He was just as gruff as usual, but when Derek walked around to Stiles’ other side he bumped a shoulder against Stiles. Derek never touched Stiles on purpose unless he was threatening or saving him, but the touch was gentle enough that Stiles could only consider it payback for his own tactility earlier in the day.

The confession worked. Isaac immediately perked up and almost dropped the box of crackers he was holding. “Really? I can move back now, if you want.” He froze when he realized how eager he looked, and quickly tucked his head down. “I mean, I should probably stay here for a while, at least until Boyd and Erica are moving around...right?”

“Right.” Compared to Derek’s usual grumpiness, he was practically glowing.

Maybe just one more push? Stiles leaned back against the counter as nonchalantly as he could manage and asked, “So can you explain what’s going on and what happened to the Betas?”

Derek blinked at Stiles for a second before understanding what he was doing. It was a chance to act like he hadn’t wanted to hide anything from Scott in the first place. A chance to be open. He just needed to take it.

“Like I told Scott, it looks like it was another werewolf pack.” Derek looked over at Isaac. “Remember what I said when we found that mark on the door? That was the symbol of the Alpha pack, a rival group made up entirely of Alphas who killed their own packmates to gain their power. They call themselves a democracy, but they’re led by a man named Deucalion.” He went quiet for a few seconds, leaving the hiss of cooking hamburger the only sound in the room. “My family had some altercations with them, before. I think they’re here to take over the territory now that the Hale pack is so small.”

Although Isaac already had some familiarity with the idea of an Alpha pack, Scott was completely stunned. Stiles watched nervously as Scott’s face shifted through emotions. Anger showed up more than once, but luckily it was not the one that prompted his response. Instead Scott just sounded worried. “Are Erica and Boyd going to have time to get better before they make their move?”

Derek shook his head and cross his arms over his chest. It was moments like these Stiles got a bit distracted by the appearance of the wolf. It was a given that Derek was gorgeous, but when he stood in a beam of sunlight like now, and when he wasn’t threatening anyone or arguing a hard-to-swallow point, he looked like some kind of god. Muscles bulging just about everywhere, and his triskele tattoo showing through the back of his white henley. Stiles almost didn’t hear his answer.

“I don’t think they’re going to be back anytime soon. I haven’t smelled them anywhere nearby since they left their mark. I think they were taunting us, happy just getting rid of Erica and Boyd, happy enough not to realize they hadn’t finished the job.”

The conversation was interrupted by the soft beeping of the alarm Stiles had set for the food, and he turned his attention back to it with relief.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update is a bit late, but here you go!

The rest of the night was actually kind of peaceful. The pack ate together upstairs so Derek and Stiles could help Erica and Boyd with their own food, then Isaac pulled Scott and Stiles away to show them his unfinished room. It was actually pretty big, and Isaac sounded like a little kid when he pointed out the still plastic wrapped mattress and talked about how Derek had told him he could do whatever he wanted with the room once it was done.

It was like they’d all forgotten they were werewolves for a while. Isaac had no qualms about praising Derek, though they were only across the floor from him, and Scott pulled Stiles down the stairs to the living room, also ignoring the fact that everyone would likely be able to hear them anyway.

“Stiles, what’re you doing here?” he asked, holding onto Stiles’ shoulder almost protectively.

Stiles knew that he was probably just worried about him, but it still hurt. Why was it so weird that he was involved in their latest drama? He thought for a second about how to explain things, while keeping Derek out of the doghouse. Ugh, so many dog jokes, so little time. First he tested the waters. “Didn’t Derek tell you?” Scott shook his head. “Oh, well, I came over here yesterday and found Erica and Boyd in really bad shape. They looked pretty bad, so I insisted on staying.” It wasn't technically a lie...

Scott looked around at the damaged house in confusion, “Why did you come over here? And why are you and Derek acting so...friendly? Don’t your guys’ conversations usually include him throwing you against something?”

Stiles’ best friend had always had puppy dog eyes, and he used them to his advantage whenever he could, but he also had the most perfect _I have no idea what’s happening_ face Stiles had ever seen. It wasn’t fair really, that Scott had such a gift for facial expressions and he never even used it. He could be an actor, or maybe a mime, or even a cheerleader and go really far with it.

The image of Scott doing hurkeys and backflips with all his werewolf hair and teeth made Stiles snort a little, but when Scott poked him he tried to get back to the right topic. Apparently his research wasn’t going to be the secret he’d hoped for. “Peter let me borrow the Hale bestiary a while ago, and I had to return the laptop. But apparently he just fucking skedaddled and left Derek on his own. So I’m helping out a little.” Again, all true, just not specifically the answer to Scott's question.

If yesterday had been the day of new Derek expressions, today was the day Stiles played his pack wingman. “He can’t do all this stuff by himself, and to be honest, he thought if he called you, you would refuse to come. You gotta stop acting like you hate him, dude.”

When Scott didn’t answer him, Stiles headed back upstairs to check on his patients. He was developing a rhythm: check on Betas, go talk to people, check on Betas, find something productive to do. Derek worked in counterpoint with him, so the Beta’s were almost never alone. It was a good system, but it kept Stiles from being able to talk to Derek alone until everyone headed off to bed.

Once they realized Derek and Stiles weren’t going to be leaving the Betas for the night, Isaac and Scott disappeared into Isaac’s room. Stiles couldn’t help a blink of surprise and when he looked at Derek he received one in return. “Do you think—?” After all, they had been spending a lot of time together, and while Scott had insisted on waiting for Allison, they both knew that pining after someone for years just wasn’t worth it. Stiles knew from experience, and that was why he’d let Lydia go. She was still just as amazing as he remembered, but it was easier to be around her when he wasn’t thinking about his ten year plan to date her, and it made her much more relaxed around him as well.

Derek sighed and dropped to the floor much like the night before, only this time he landed on one of the cushions Stiles had bought for them to sleep on. “I have no idea.”

From across the room Boyd piped up, “What’re you guys talking about?”

Stiles jumped. Erica had made a couple snarky comments and requests during the afternoon, but Boyd had been completely silent. “Nothing kiddo, get some sleep.”

While he heard a tiny mutter of “I’m older than you, dumbass,” there were still the telltale shifts of Boyd getting comfortable. Stiles and Derek waited them out, staring out the window or picking at the chipping floorboards until Derek finally nodded to signal the Betas were asleep.

“How was it?” Stiles didn’t have to elaborate. As was becoming his routine, he made himself comfortable and waited for Derek to work out a reply. Somehow it was easier, when he was alone with Derek, to relax all the nervous and energetic outbursts and just breathe. It made Stiles feel more in control, and Derek hadn’t threatened him recently, so it must be doing him some good as well.

Derek whispered, though from the heavy snores that had started up, the Betas weren’t anywhere near waking up. “They were angry with me, and they don’t trust me, but it was...okay. Better once you got here.”

The words made Stiles’ heart jump a little, and he shifted on his cushion, resolutely telling himself it was just because he was happy to see Derek getting along with the pack. It totally had nothing to do with the ache Stiles had been feeling in his chest every time Erica asked for him, or Derek said the words ‘I need’ in reference to him.

It was infuriating and pathetic, how that complicated knot in Stiles’ stomach eased a little every time one of the pack made him feel useful. Feeling so completely _outside_ of things for so long hurt way more than Stiles ever thought it could. He was just a human, but every time he saw members of the pack together in the house, whether it was Isaac and Scott arguing about lacrosse or Derek listening to Erica’s ramblings about wanting a room of her own once she was better, something inside him went thick and liquidy like warm honey. It almost felt like the way Scott had described his mom’s scent. Almost like home.

And wasn’t that just ridiculous? They were just a bunch of teenagers and one emotionally suffering Alpha that were forced to spend time together whenever someone got hurt. Stiles’ heart was pounding in his head, and he barely felt it when Derek moved over to him and grabbed his arm. “Stiles?”

Stiles wasn’t feeling anything real, he was just imagining what it would be like to have the pack that Derek always talked about. He was hallucinating the feeling of having friends who needed him. He was only there until Derek bonded with Scott and then he’d be asked to leave. It was too dangerous for a human, and Scott was better than him with first aid, and Derek couldn’t stand to be around him anyway so why they were putting on this charade, Stiles couldn’t even begin to understand.

Shaking off the hand, Stiles scrambled away, blind to the red eyes that watched him go, and he tripped his way down the stairs and out of the house. He went around the back and collapsed in the darkest shadow he could find, shivering and braiding his fingers together at the back of his head to tuck his forehead to his knees. He squeezed his whole body inward, searching for the faint illusion of stability it gave him.

Breathing was suddenly much harder than Stiles remembered and there was this painful tearing in his heart when half of him wanted to run as far from the house as possible, and the other half was desperate to stay and keep pretending he was somehow _important_. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see straight, and the comforting touch of someone’s hand on his shoulder wasn’t deserved so Stiles jerked in place to remove it. God, why couldn’t he breathe?

The last thing his addled mind expected was for the grip to tighten. Through the fog, and the tornado of thoughts, and hyperawareness that only served to drive Stiles further down the rabbit hole, a voice dug through. It was fierce and held no room for refusal, and that made it so much easier to obey. If he was only doing as he was told, surely that meant Stiles couldn’t be doing wrong?

“Stiles, you’re strangling yourself. _Let go._ ”

And Stiles did. Sure enough, the pressure on his lungs let up as Stiles uncurled, but without that same pressure he was lost. Stiles’ hands clutched at thin air, gasping, searching for something to hold on to because he just knew he was about to be blown away. Finding cloth, he yanked it toward him, intent on just forcing his way into the same space as whatever warm thing was in front of him. Just as quickly he shoved it away again, realizing it was a person and who the hell needed Stiles clinging to them?

God, he was having a panic attack. He was having a fucking panic attack and how much more pitiful could he get? Whoever this was didn’t deserve this, shouldn’t have to deal with this. Stiles was usually so good about his attacks, careful to keep the rising anxiety concealed until he could be alone and just fight his way through it where no one had to see. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Sorry.” Once he started he couldn’t stop. “Sorry, I’m sorry, _fuckI’msorry, sorrysorrysorrysorry.”_

At first the voice went soft, “Stiles, hey, Stiles, come on.” Then it grew more urgent as Stiles failed miserably to contain his babbling. “Stiles! Stiles, stop it.” Finally it snapped, and there was another command.

“Shut up!” And Stiles did. Apparently his body wouldn’t obey his own mind, but it would obey the person now holding him, forcing him into the safety of their arms even though all Stiles could think about was hiding and begging forgiveness for being such a goddamn inconvenience.

Even the soothing rubbing on his shoulder blades couldn’t calm Stiles’ breathing. Shallow breaths helped, but then he couldn’t stop those either and soon he was hyperventilating. Just one thing after another. The person grabbed at Stiles’ hand and shoved it against a hard flat surface. Underneath his fingertips Stiles could feel a rhythmic thumping and the rise and fall of smooth breaths. “Breathe.” And Stiles did.

It felt like forever until Stiles could breathe calmly through his nose again, even longer before he recognized the person whose lap he was now sitting in, the person who had been carding his fingers through Stiles’ short hair for who knew how long.

Derek.

Oh god, anybody but him. Derek had been through more than anyone else, but he was stuck taking care of Stiles like the child he was. Stiles began breathing through his mouth again, losing his barely there control until Derek spoke, his whole chest rumbling against the fingertips Stiles had tucked under his shirt and pressed against his heart. “Whatever you’re thinking about, just shut up. Just breathe and shut up.” There wasn’t an ounce of heat in the order, but Stiles still did as he was told. It wasn’t like he could make any excuses for himself; he couldn’t speak at all at the moment.

That was a lie. He definitely could if he had to. For instance, if Scott came outside to find them, Stiles had no doubt he would be able to jump to his feet and thoroughly convince his best friend that nothing had happened. Stiles was good at that; he’d been hiding his anxiety for years.

But Derek already knew how pathetic and broken Stiles was now, so where was the harm in just shutting up for a bit? Besides, Stiles was scarily sure that if he tried to talk without the adrenaline rush that came from coming up with something on the spot, the only words he would manage would be more _I’m sorry_ ’s.

Derek’s fingers rubbed softly at Stiles’ scalp, and after a few moments of calm, he spoke. “You need to talk more.” Stiles nearly choked on the huff of laughter that those five words yanked out of him. No one in his entire life had _ever_ told Stiles to talk more. His laugh sounded a surprising amount like Derek’s, and Stiles had to wonder if maybe the reason he didn’t laugh very much was because he felt like this sometimes. Like talking hurt and feeling hurt worse.

“I’m serious,” Derek continued, “you have way too much going on in your head. I swear I can hear it sometimes. If you don’t let out the pressure it’s just gonna drive you to more of these.” The docile Derek that Stiles had been experiencing the last two days was gone, replaced by a much more in control version that Stiles appreciated very much, considering his current condition. His voice was quiet, though, when he added, “I wouldn’t have told you to shut up so often if I knew about this. I’m sorry.”

Wasn’t that just the icing on the cake? Derek had somehow found a way to blame himself for Stiles’ anxiety disorder. As Derek pulled Stiles to his feet, wrapping a firm arm around his waist and draping Stiles’ own limp limb over his shoulder, the shaky boy managed to get out one word. “Sourwolf.”

Derek laughed. A real laugh, small and bright and even though Stiles had already figured out how to breathe again, some of the tension in his chest loosened at the sound. Stiles didn’t say anything else; couldn’t make any words come forward as they walked slowly into the house through the back door. He hadn’t even known there _was_ a back door.

They listened closely once they reached the top landing, until Derek shook his head. So Stiles hadn’t woken anybody up. That was one small blessing. Another was when Derek pulled Stiles down to the floor with him on his cushion and wrapped around him like an octopus again, keeping him snugly settled in the hollow of his crossed legs. As much as Stiles didn’t want to admit it, it helped a lot to have the Alpha keeping him steady.

Panic attacks were exhausting, as Stiles had learned so long ago, and he barely managed a grateful look into Derek’s red-ringed eyes before falling asleep. Red was a much more comforting color than Stiles remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely amazed at all the attention and love this fic is getting, you guys are amazing!

The next morning Stiles extracted himself from Derek’s arms and was running around long before anybody else woke up. In fact, no one else got up until Stiles had a full pack of bacon sizzling in two shallow pans on the stove. He was surprised it took them that long, as he’d been muttering to himself the entire time. Everything from lyrics he’d heard on the radio recently to namelessly cursing the very specific Alpha who insisted on hiding dishes in strange places. Whatever came to mind bubbled out of him, and Stiles felt light on his feet, unwilling to examine anything that had happened before.

Derek was the first to come down, of course. While most of Stiles wanted to just skim over the night before, he still managed to give the wolf a small smile as he continued rambling to the universe about the best way to scramble eggs. Derek waited quietly for a few moments, leaning against the archway and watching Stiles work before tapping him on the shoulder. The feeling made Stiles jump, and he stopped talking immediately. Too much?

But all he received was a bunny toothed smile. “Erica wants you. I already helped Boyd, but she’s kind of attached to you at this point.” When Stiles glanced over at his breakfast feast Derek pulled the spatula from his fingers. “I got it, go.”

All Erica needed, as it turned out, was some help standing and getting to the bathroom. Her cheeks were flushed red the entire way, and Stiles thought her face might actually burst into flames when he forced himself to ask the dreaded question. “Do you need help?”

It wasn’t even that he was worried about it being awkward. He’d seen most of Erica’s insides while they were on the outside, and she’d yet to be capable of putting a new shirt on after he’d cut the frayed ribbons of the last one off her, so she’d been in nothing but her torn jeans and a bra for the last two days. Though he knew Erica had once been attracted to him, Stiles could sense that those particular feelings had faded. He personally felt nothing more than an extreme protectiveness of her at this point, which was probably stupid seeing as any other time she could break his face with hilarious ease.

He just didn’t want her to suffer more than she had to. It was the inability to take care of herself that he knew she hated, and he didn’t want to add to that. But Erica just stared at the floor and shook her head. “I’m good. It’s just the walking that’s hard.”

Once she returned to the hallway he helped her settle in a similar position to how Derek had helped Boyd. Now the two were close enough to interact, leaned against the wall with pillows supporting them. Derek had left Boyd’s bandages alone, and Stiles took comfort in how few of them actually needed to be replaced. Just to be sure, he wanted to make them some more tea to have with their solid food.

Two steaming mugs were already waiting for him when he went back to the kitchen, and Scott and Isaac were waiting for him at the table. Empty plates sat in front of them.

“Aw, you guys waited for little ol’ me? Adorable, the lot of you, but we should eat with Erica and Boyd or they’ll get lonely up in their sickroom.”

Isaac tipped his head down a little, looking sheepish. How did Stiles never put that together before? The wolf looked sheepish. Fucking brilliant. “We know, Derek just wanted us to wait till you were done helping.”

Stiles looked at the accused, but Derek had his back turned as he dished out portions onto the rest of his plates. It was the most natural thing in the world to drop a hand onto the Alpha’s shoulder. “Thanks, Sourwolf. We’d better bring food up soon though, Erica may have mentioned a certain broken promise about crackers.” Still not looking at him, but with shoulders too relaxed to be angry, Derek held out a plate behind him for Stiles to take.

Breakfast was interesting. Once they’d hauled the plates and drinks up to the room, everyone found their own little areas. Erica and Boyd couldn’t move, obviously, but they were feeling up to feeding themselves so Stiles gave them some space. The more independent they felt, the better their moods would stay. Scott and Isaac chose the middle of the floor, staying much closer to the group than they had the day before, and Stiles counted it as a win. He also didn’t shut up for most of the meal, forgetting to eat between his topic changes except when Derek, who’d actually sat next to him, nudged the hand he was holding a fork in.

Stiles noticed every time one of the pack cast a worried look at Derek, then Stiles. It was obvious they were confused. Under normal circumstances Derek would’ve silenced Stiles ages ago, but today he just ate quietly, nodding once in a while during his breaks in speech.

It made Stiles nervous and he actually tried to stop himself at one point, but Derek apparently had found a new goal. To make Stiles never shut up again. When he noticed Stiles had gone quiet, and that wasn’t hard considering he was the only one who’d been speaking in the first place, Derek actually asked a question. “If you guys are going to be staying here now, are you planning to help me work on the house?”

Wow. Stiles was actually fighting the urge to beam with pride. “Of course they are! You’ve already signed Isaac up for the tiling thing, and I know for a fact Scott’s good with a hammer and nails. You should’ve seen the treehouse we built when we were kids.”

Scott had finished eating already and winced at the mention of their fourth grade project. “Stiles, that thing collapsed while we were  _ inside it _ .”

“But the fact that it stood up in the first place is a testament to your skills, Scotty.”

They kept Erica and Boyd company long after everyone was done eating, Scott and Stiles sharing childhood stories, Isaac bringing up old lacrosse games, and Boyd even mentioning some of the strange people that’d visited the ice rink while he’d been working there. Derek didn’t do any talking, but he certainly watched. Stiles couldn’t really keep his eyes off him. Though he focused as much of his attention as he could on whoever was speaking, he kept sliding back to Derek’s face.

It was just so  _ relaxed _ . At one point Derek’s eyes turned red, sliding slowly into the color instead of flashing. Stiles almost asked him what was wrong, but Derek just inhaled deeply through his nose and actually smiled. If he’d looked relaxed before, now he turned boneless, drooping slightly into Stiles’ side. Stiles tried to get a good whiff too, but he couldn’t smell much more than the leftover food and a bit of antiseptic he’d spilled on the floor. What he saw though, made him understand Derek’s reaction.

Everyone who could move of their own volition had shifted closer together around the injured Betas, knees overlapping and elbows nudging each other. There were smiles on everyone’s faces, ranging from Derek’s secret one to Scott’s dopey puppy grin. Derek had his pack, together and happy, and that had to be quite the headrush for the Alpha. It was definitely doing nice things to Stiles’ head.

It took two more days for Erica and Boyd to fully heal. Two days of Stiles cooking and Derek cleaning, and Isaac retiling the bathrooms. Scott took over bandage duty, but even Boyd preferred to call for Stiles if there was anything he needed. It surprised Stiles when he actually said it out loud, and he’d felt his whole face flush. Erica copied the sentiment, citing, “You’re just easier, Stiles.”

Stiles managed to keep a lid on his feelings and slept in his proper spot the next night, but he woke up sometime after everyone else had to gone sleep to Derek shifting him into his lap again. Derek’s hands were shaking slightly as he gripped Stiles’ forearms. The heat of the Alpha was almost overwhelming, but Stiles just looked up to catch the shifted eyes that were becoming so common when they were alone.

Derek pressed his forehead down onto Stiles’ shoulder, effectively hiding his face from view.

“Derek?” he whispered. The Betas were much more aware now, and Stiles didn’t want to wake them up by saying too much, or scare Derek away by asking what was wrong.

The wolf was taking long shaky breaths, squeezing slightly with every inhale. It felt much different to be in this position while Stiles was cognizant of his own body. Now he couldn’t even excuse the speeding of his heart as anxiety.

But Derek was shivering, and his breaths were shortening much like Stiles’ own had, so Stiles returned the favor and lifted the Alpha’s big hand up to where his own jumpy human heart was best felt.

Although Derek didn’t need the physical touch because of his hearing, he still calmed slightly, pressing on Stiles’ chest to get closer to the rhythmic thumping. “Nightmare.” came a cracked, hoarse whisper into Stiles’ shoulder.

There was nothing Stiles could think of that would help Derek, so he did what helped him. He talked, whispering as softly as he could about his favorite book as a kid, and the first time his father left him alone at home for an afternoon, and how bad Scott was at videogames unless there was a prize involved. The only indication that it was working was the miniscule relaxation of Derek’s grip and the way his forehead only rested on Stiles’ shoulder instead of pushing down into it.

By the time Stiles’ voice had run dry, Derek’s body was slumped forward against his back, arms dropped to Stiles’s waist. When Stiles pressed backward into him to encourage the wolf to lean against the wall instead so he could stop hunching over, he felt Derek’s mouth twitch and he snuffled quietly before complying. It shouldn’t have made Stiles’ chest ache, but it did.

Derek was already up when Stiles woke up the next morning and going by the lack of judgy looks from Erica and Boyd, he’d gotten up before the Betas could see their unusual sleeping arrangement. He didn’t mind, and the next night he didn’t even bother saying anything when he was woken up by a tentative Alpha tugging him into place around midnight.

They didn’t talk about it and if anyone else noticed anything, they didn’t speak up. Stiles was proud of the pack for that, for just letting Derek have some kind of comfort without poking or prodding at it. The most obvious reaction from any of the Betas was Scott wrinkling his nose at Stiles in the morning, and Isaac randomly hugging him in the hall and scenting him.

Aside from the general overprotective worry that seeped into Stiles whenever he helped Erica and Boyd, Stiles felt calm. The easing of his anxiety was in large part due to Stiles not having to hold anything in. And it wasn’t that he spent every second talking, but rather that he didn’t need to. After that first day of relative word vomit, Stiles didn’t actually  _ think _ as many things. Well, he did, but it wasn’t in the urgent way he was used to. Not needing to use his filter actually made him not need to  _ have _ a filter.

Throughout this, Derek countered Stiles in the best way possible. He’d always been a stark opposite to Stiles’ personality, but now that they’d found some kind of peace together it just started to  _ work _ . When Stiles was loud, Derek stayed quiet, and when Stiles lost his words Derek filled in the empty spaces. Anything Stiles couldn’t take care of Derek did without needing asked, and Stiles kind of liked being able to help Derek with the more  _ human _ aspects of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of the story in the comments, I know it doesn't have the strongest plotline, but this fic is more about emotions than anything else. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the last chapter!
> 
> Once again, I'd like to thank my brilliant Beta [PerseShow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerseShow/pseuds/PerseShow). Don't know what I'd have done without her.
> 
> Be sure to watch for the notes at the end!

Once everyone was healthy and willing, Derek declared war on the house. It was too damaged, he said, to save much of anything. After the fire and five years of neglect, even the least ruined walls of the house needed almost completely rebuilt. So the Hale House became a pack project.

The idea came to Stiles as he watched the now stripped house come into view through the trees. He’d finally gone back to living at home, but he spent most days with the pack. Even without a significant skill with tools, Stiles knew how to destroy things, and that was part of work required. Old walls needed smashed down and brought to a bare bones state in order to be properly renovated.

Of course, Derek decided he didn’t want to actually hire anyone, so the entire werewolf population of Beacon Hills (that was five, count them,  _ five _ werewolves) pitched in. It also meant there weren’t any workers that could be exposed to the supernatural world, and that was where Stiles got excited.

He’d been studying the rune book Deaton let him borrow and found a bunch that looked incredibly useful. Protection Runes, Strength Runes, Concealment Runes. As far as Stiles could tell they worked just like the mountain ash. All they needed was a little spark of belief to make them work. After seeing what a ragtag group of teenage werewolves could accomplish, Stiles had plenty of belief.

Painting them on the walls would be too obvious and easy to destroy, not to mention it would make the house look like it belonged to a cult. But what about  _ in _ the walls? The support beams of the house were exposed, and if he marked them with runes then no one would even have to know they were there.

Stiles tried one on a chunk of wood he stole from the scrap pile first, sitting in his room that night with a can of black paint and one of those artistic brushes. He kept having to wipe sections off until he got used to painting the design, but finally it looked right. This was it, and Stiles close his eyes for good measure, taking a second to breathe and just  _ believe _ .

Just like with the mountain ash, nothing noticeable happened. No flashes of light, no wooshy air like in Harry Potter, but when Stiles looked disappointedly down at his failed project, he jumped so hard he fell off his chair. The paint on the wood was gone, replaced by a burned brand of the rune that glowed slightly around the edges.

He’d tried a strength spell, which was easier to test than the others. Even though he was pretty sure it had worked, Stiles still flicked open a pocket knife and attempted to drag the blade down the bare side of the wood. It left no scratch. Then Stiles set the wood on the floor, because, hello, he wasn’t about to lose a hand, and jabbed at it. No dent.

Breathless, Stiles painted on another rune, the first one he’d memorized. After a quick mutter of  _ I do believe in fairies _ , there was another brand in the wood and Stiles ran downstairs and out to the fire pit. Twenty minutes later, Stiles dug the wood out of the pit and wiped off the ash coating, grinning wildly.

The next morning Stiles threw on a hoodie as he raced to the Jeep, nearly dropping his paint can and brush. He was so excited he didn’t even bother turning on the radio and just drove to what he now considered the pack house.

Derek and Isaac were already at work, focusing on repairing and replacing the flooring before anyone tried building the walls back up. Perfect.

Stiles barely bothered with a greeting before starting on his own project, but Isaac came up to say hi properly, and Derek followed behind him, watching with interest.

“Um, Stiles, what’re you doing to the house?” Isaac asked. He didn’t even try asking him to stop, and Stiles wasn’t sure whether it was because he trusted him, or because he had given up on him.

“And what are you wearing?” Derek said, growling slightly. It wasn’t an angry growl. Stiles had come to realize that very few of Derek’s growls were actually angry. Usually they were just confused, or surprised, or even excited once in a long while. He had a whole range of wolfy emotions hidden in a single action.

Stiles looked down at himself. He wasn’t wearing anything special. Just a pair of old jeans that he didn’t mind ruining and a Star Trek t-shirt with  _ Beam Me Up Scotty _ written on the front. Sure it wasn’t an actual line from the show, but hey, Scott always laughed when he wore it. Overtop he wore his hoodie, a recent favourite for no other reason than Stiles had been drawn to its color.

Red. It was a dark red that should have reminded Stiles of blood and grossness and everything awful he’d dealt with since Scott got bit, but instead just made him feel safe. He’d found it buried in the back of his closet and had taken to wearing it around the house. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Derek’s eyes flashed for a moment in response and Stiles’ nearly lost his jaw in the grass. Oh.  _ Oh. _ The zip up sweatshirt wasn’t just red, it was Alpha red, like Derek’s eyes. Honestly, that explained way more than Stiles wanted to contemplate.

Now they were kind of staring at each other, and thank God for Isaac who just laughed. “You look like Little Red Riding Hood.” Reflexively, Stiles smiled. It was one thing to make as many dog and wolf jokes as he could just to piss Derek and the others off, and a whole other thing for them to make the jokes themselves.

“So long as you don’t go after my grandmother I think we’re good. Now the both of you need to just shoo. I’m working, and wipe that look off your face, Sourwolf, I won’t hurt the house.” Stiles turned resolutely back to his designs, comparing them to the pictures he’d taken on his phone even though he’d practiced about a thousand times the night before. 

Behind him he heard the telltale sounds of Isaac walking away, and after a moment Derek muttered, “No promises, Little Red.” There was a strange tone to it, and while Stiles was ecstatic about Derek finding a nickname for him that didn’t involve a swear word, he couldn’t help shivering at the non-angry but still heated words.

It took hours. A complete set of the symbols he’d found on every support beam in the house, plus a set inside the floor where areas had been ripped open for replacement. It was as good as it was gonna get.

Stiles hadn’t bothered to bind the runes one at a time; it would take too long. So, once they’d all been painted on, he wandered over to the middle of the house and closed his eyes. He swore he could hear the smirk on Derek’s face when he came to find him. “Hey, Little Red, you gonna tell me what you were doing now?”

It wasn’t working. Stiles could feel the dullness in his own belief. Maybe it was too much at a time? He just needed something to center himself on, he was sure of it. Not thinking too hard about it he reached a hand toward the voice and grasped at Derek’s shirt, sliding his hand over the ridiculously Adonis-like body down to Derek’s own hand. He pulled it up toward himself, and dropped it against his heart.

Instantly Stiles could feel  _ something _ . Unlike with willing one rune to work at a time, there was a physical feeling to what Stiles was doing, almost like a substance was accumulating on his fingers. Trusting Derek not to move, Stiles rubbed his hands together until there were actual sparks of heat between them and then he shoved them outwards with as much force of will as he could manage.

His eyes popped open when Derek gasped and Isaac squeaked in the distance. Flooding the bones of the house was an actual field of burning red energy. It buzzed for a moment before fizzling and sinking into the wood and foundation. Isaac was standing and staring at the glowing beam in front of him, but Derek was just looking at Stiles.

Right. He probably should have explained. “Okay, first, I promise I didn’t hurt the house. I just—”

“Stiles, was that magic?” Suddenly Stiles was back in Derek’s car the day he’d picked him up. This wasn’t the fateful day that he got his throat torn out, right?

He winced. “Sort of? It’s just runes, like with the mountain—”

Derek cut him off, grabbing his shoulder with a free hand and looking him in the eye. “Hey, I have no idea what you did, and I’m not angry. But Stiles, you’re glowing.”

He was. When he looked down his skin was simmering with the same red energy. It was slowly dissipating, but it was clearly there. That hadn’t happened before.

Suddenly there was the skid of tires on loose dirt and two cars pulled up. One with Erica and Boyd, and the other with Scott. All three wolves threw themselves out of the car, already half shifted. They ran up to Stiles and would have tackled him if Derek hadn’t spun to look at them, holding them back and hiding Stiles behind his arms protectively.

“What the hell just happened?” Scott growled.

“We saw the house light up like a christmas tree!” snarled Boyd.

Erica dove around Derek’s arms, eliciting an alarmed growl from Derek that dropped off abruptly as the blonde threw her arms around Stiles, burying her face in his neck and shifting back into her human form instantly. In moments Boyd and Scott had joined her, nearly knocking Stiles to the splintered floorboards in their excitement to basically rub all over him. Even Isaac appeared and attached himself to Stiles’ back.

For a few moments Derek just stared, then he answered the question burning in Stiles’ eyes. “You smell weird.” And, well, even Stiles could tell. The air around him smelled and tasted like pure electricity, and the wolves cuddling him seemed determined to remove the offensive scent.

It was warm, and safe, and if Stiles was honest, a little much. “Guys, I’m fine. Hey! Breathing getting a little difficult here!”

Derek pulled the wolves away with a firm hand and replaced them by standing behind Stiles and wrapping his arms loosely around his shoulders, holding him firmly against his chest and belying his own warning of, “Give him space to breathe.” It was better though, not being squeezed, and Stiles certainly wasn’t going to complain about Derek’s proximity issues at the moment when he was comforting the anxiety rising in Stiles chest.

That had been different. The book had said a spark of belief, just like the ash, was all it took. But Stiles had felt something else involved. Something weird.

The Betas were getting more antsy by the second and Stiles didn’t have an answer for them, so he just looked the inch difference up at Derek. He seemed the least confused, if not the least shocked out of the lot of them.

“Stiles did magic.” Derek muttered, and if Stiles didn’t know better he’d say the Alpha sounded proud.

He tried to shrug it off, “It was just like the mountain ash, no big deal. I put some runes around the house for protection and strength and...fireproofing.”

The arms around him went predictably tense, and Stiles instinctively clasped his hand around Derek’s wrist in comfort. That was the entire point of the exercise. To remove that fear. His nerves shoved aside, along with his confusion at everyone’s surprise about the magic, Stiles pulled on Derek’s arms until they released him so he could go dig in the tool box.

When he found what he was looking for, Stiles slipped on a glove and held it up. A tiny welder Derek had bought, for what Stiles had no idea, but it would do the trick. As the pack watched, he went over to a nearby marked beam and lit the torch. He watched Derek’s eyes go red and kept eye contact until they melted back down to green. Then he set the flame against the wood.

Derek jumped forward, and Scott shouted, but Stiles just held the heat against the wood for a good ten seconds before turning it off. “Look.” he gestured toward it and the pack crowded around. As he’d planned, there wasn’t a single scorch mark on it. While this was beneficial to the pack as a whole, Stiles had always planned for it to be a gift to Derek.

Stiles went to Derek’s side and handed him the torch. “It’s fireproof. The whole house. I don’t even think an accelerant would have any effect. They’d have to destroy the runes, and that’s gonna be pretty hard to do as well because of the strength charms, and that’s after  _ finding _ them. No more destruction, and no more fires.”

The Alpha didn’t say anything, just looked back and forth from the welder, to Stiles, to the perfect wood, and back to Stiles.

Scott was the one to break the silence. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

“From one of Deaton’s books. He let me borrow it, and I thought they would help.” Stiles was grateful for the excuse to look away from Derek because the feeling of Derek boring his eyes into Stiles’ head was a little intense. “It just said they needed a spark of belief, so I gave it a try.”

When Scott held out his hand, Stiles knew they had gotten too close as friends. No way should he have known Stiles kept pictures of important pages on his phone. Sighing, he handed it over. The sooner they calmed down, the sooner he could figure out how to get Derek to stop staring at him.

It didn’t take long for Scott to find the right picture, and he shook his head almost instantly. “Stiles, I swear to god. You are so blind sometimes.”

“What? What’d I miss?” He reached for his phone, but Erica’s stupid speed meant she got to it first.

She tapped on the screen with two fingers, zooming in, though her werewolf eyesight left no reason for it. “It says ‘A Spark  _ and _ Belief’, not ‘A spark  _ of _ Belief’. And it says ‘Spark’, like with a capital S. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A Spark is a name for a magical being, usually descended from a Druid.” Derek had finally come back to himself apparently. “Stiles, this is  _ nothing _ like the mountain ash. Those Runes just don’t work without an inherent magical ability in the caster.”

Time seemed to slow down a bit, and Stiles wouldn’t have been very surprised if it really did at this point. He also wasn’t shocked when Derek got all up in his personal space again. If he wasn’t careful, Stiles was going to start expecting that daily. “So I’m a…?” A what, exactly? A druid? A druid’s kid? Maybe even a Druid’s grandkid? His grandmother had always been a bit too knowledgeable.

“You’re human, Stiles. Anyone could smell that.” reassured Derek. It was so weird how dialogue changed when you were in the company of werewolves. “There’s just, extra. Magic.”

Everyone was quiet for a second, and the Betas stared at Stiles like he was a whole new person. He knew he wasn’t; just the same old Stiles, with magic on the side that he somehow never knew about before. The pack’s eyes were trained so closely on Stiles that he took a bit of satisfaction at how high they jumped when he shouted, “That son of a bitch!”

“Who?” asked Isaac, looking around for the invisible culprit.

Stiles didn’t even bother moving away from the group before he flailed his arms and nearly smacked Derek on the nose. “Fucking Deaton! When he gave me the book he had this weird laugh and he told me I might find it ‘useful’ one day. He knew the whole damn time!”

His spazzy fury released all the tension in the group, and if he secretly planned it that way they didn’t need to know. Without anyone having to give any serious speeches or making any dumb promises, they all just moved off to their usual places. Even Derek gave him his space back, muttering about the stupidly enigmatic veterinarian that admittedly seemed to be playing with their lives at times.

When he was relatively alone, Stiles sat down and tried to take it all in. He was magic. Stiles Stilinski was magic. A human, but with magical powers. It just didn’t want to click. How was he even supposed to bring it up with his family? Noah didn’t even know about the werewolves in town, surely he had no idea about a druidic family member. If his dad knew Stiles was some kind of wizard, he would have told him. Right?

But Stiles couldn’t even focus on being upset because his whole brain was stuck on  _ magic _ . Finally, after a freaking year of being useless as hell, he had something that could help the pack. He was finally able to be important.

Strangely enough, he didn’t feel much different than usual. In the two weeks since Erica and Boyd being found, it was like the pack was working overdrive to remind Stiles how much they needed him. Even now, he had to hold up a peace sign to acknowledge Scott calling him over with those exact words. He knew Derek hadn’t said anything about the panic attack, and even if he had, there was no way for anyone to know what had caused it. They all just seemed to sense it; the need Stiles had for being helpful and  _ needed _ . And he was, without any extra.

Stiles was pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not only do I desperately want to know what you think, I also have some news! On the off chance any of you are craving more from this universe of mine, I've begun writing a sequel! It's nowhere near done at the moment though, so I'm going to wait a full week before uploading the first chapter. Don't worry, I'll make it a series so you guys can find it easier when it gets started.  
> Thank you for the Massive support I've received for this work, and I hope you guys stick with me in the sequel. <3


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